


Mine

by dereksstilinski (greyslittlediaries)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Bottom Derek Hale, Happy Ending, Infidelity Outside of Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, POV Stiles Stilinski, Power Bottom Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23825209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyslittlediaries/pseuds/dereksstilinski
Summary: Stiles is a college kid that thinks that romantic love is something that hurts and destroys instead of something that heals and rejuvenates. He meets Derek and attempts to unlearn the simple fact that was as true to him as the sky being blue. It's not easy and sometimes it feels like it's not worth it. Sometimes Derek, who has lost so much, has to be the one to love enough for the both of them.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 27
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off of the song _Mine_ by Taylor Swift.
> 
> Taylor Swift, on writing _Mine_ : “So I think I've developed this pattern of running away when it comes time to fall in love and stay in a relationship. The song is sort of about finding the exception to that and finding someone who would make you believe in love and realize that it could work out, because I'm never ever going to go past hoping that love works out.”
> 
> After being out of the fanfiction game for years, I have fallen deep back into the hole due to this quarantine. I have to say...I'm not even mad about it. I forgot how much I love reading and writing about my favorite characters and fictional relationships. I hope you enjoy this. I started writing it way back when and just jumped right back in.
> 
> I already have the entire work outlined. I'll be adding tags and adjusting the rating as it's deemed appropriate. Always let me know if there's something that you think should be tagged that hasn't been! Happy reading!

**_You were in college working part time waiting tables_ **

**_Left a small town, never looked back_ **

Right, so...Stiles is hungover. So fucking hungover. He definitely should not have listened to Scott when Scott said, _“Come on man, we’re only in college once. Fuck morning classes!”_ But, see, Stiles was already drunk at that point, so of course he clinked a shot glass full of - shiver - _Silver Tequila_ \- shiver - with his best friend and shouted, _“Fuck morning classes!”_

And, well, now it’s 7:47AM. His class starts at 8AM and he is in desperate need of a bacon, egg, and cheese. Sure, the cafeteria is an _option,_ but he would have to make the sandwich himself and he doesn’t feel like it, okay? He just doesn’t. Plus, there’s a diner right down the street from his dorm that Stiles walks by constantly, but never actually goes into. Why not today? Why not the day that he’s already running late? Why not?

So, he runs down the street. The top left corner of his forehead is pumping painfully every time one of his feet hits the ground. Finally, blissfully, he busts through the diner doors and is greeted with the sweet, greasy smell of breakfast food. He walks up to the counter and plops down on a stool. It’s now 7:54AM. If he could get the sandwich by 8AM, then he would only be like five minutes late for class, which is _really_ not bad for a hungover college kid.

A grunt interrupts his thoughts. He looks up to find an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “Did you want anything?”

“Is that the proper etiquette of asking for orders? Did you go to waiter training school?” Another eyebrow up and now both eyes are open wide. This boy is pretty. Too pretty. Stiles is on edge. “Or...do you think that being pretty means you don’t _need_ waiter training school? You know, that’s just not right! I’ve known _many_ pretty waiters that were also polite, so I know for a _fact_ that they went to -”

“There is _no such thing_ as waiter training school.”

Stiles scoffs. “Apparently _not_ if you’re interrupting your customers!”

The waiter rolls his eyes. “Did you want anything?”

Stiles throws his hand flat against his chest and looks to the left and then the right, and while staring to the right of him (where no one is sitting), he says, “Can you believe the nerve of this guy?”

When he turns back to the waiter, the waiter’s eyebrows are now scrunched together in the middle. “Can you...do you think there’s someone sitting next to you?”

Stiles fights back a smirk. “Yeah?” Stiles pauses. “Rude. He just said ‘Hi’ to you and you’re ignoring him. Apparently it’s just me that you save your charm for.”

“Uh, let me just…” and then the waiter starts to _back away._ He refuses to turn his back on Stiles and Stiles can’t take it anymore. He starts cracking up, not even feeling the pain in his forehead.

“Dude, your _face_. Holy shit. That was incredible.”

The waiter stops in his tracks. “You were joking.”

Stiles goes to lean back in his chair cockily, as he usually does when nailing a joke, only to forget he’s _sitting on a stool._ He flails unattractively for a moment while he tries to catch his balance before plummeting to the ground.

When he peeks up, he sees the waiter standing with his arms crossed over his chest, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Stiles slowly gets up. “Okay, so maybe you at least _started_ waiter training school if you can resist laughing at that.”

Stiles watches as the waiter releases his bottom lip and swallows down the laugh he was very clearly trying to hold in. “Did you want anything?”

Stiles sits back down on the stool and mumbles, “A bacon, egg, and cheese and curly fries.”

The waiter smiles, just the tiniest bit, and walks into the kitchen. Stiles almost falls off the stool again. That ass. That ass is...indescribable. It is irrefutable. He thought his eyes were pretty, but _god,_ that ass? That ass is beautiful. A work of art. Before Stiles even knew it was there, it’s gone, into the kitchen, where Stiles can’t see the definition of each cheek moving with each step through those indecently tight jeans. A crime, truly.

Seconds too early, much faster than Stiles is able to recover, the waiter is back. “If you need anything, let me know.” The waiter hesitates before stating clearly, “It’s Derek.”

“What’s Derek?”

The waiter’s mouth forms a thin line. “Derek is my name.”

“Right, yeah, right.” Stiles clears his throat. “Yeah, of course. Uh, thank you,” Stiles says as he does a mock-bow while still in his seat. “ _Derek_.” Derek turns to walk away and Stiles has to stop him quickly before he has to face That Ass again. “Where are you going?”

“To work…”

“I’m the only person in here,” Stiles refutes. “Shouldn’t you show good waiter manners and stay with me, Derek?”

“I already gave you my name in case you needed anything - something I’m beginning to regret. What more do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Company? A hand to hold? A shoulder to cry on?”

“Why would you need a shoulder to cry on?”

“I’m hungover.”

Derek looks away, his eyes crinkling slightly at the sides. “Boohoo.”

Stiles pouts, looking up at Derek. “I thought we were over this. You know I’m a ray of sunshine in your morning.”

“Right, I love dealing with hungover college kids.”

Stiles chuckles and looks away from Derek, thinking about how this diner opens at 6AM, so Derek probably got there by at least 5:30AM. Maybe Derek lives on campus; he couldn’t be much older than Stiles. He could sleep until 5:15AM probably and still get to the diner on time. What college kid wants to wake up that early, though?

“Order up,” Derek mutters as he places the food in front of Stiles. Stiles doesn’t even look at it.

“Do you go to UCLA?”

“No.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Are you in school?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Eat your breakfast.” Derek turns to walk away.

Stiles won’t have that. “Come on, humor me, Derek.”

Derek looks around him, as if checking to make sure it’s still only him and Stiles. “I moved out here with my sister when I was sixteen and even after she was...gone, I stayed. Haven’t really thought about college. I got it pretty good here.”

“Where are you from?”

“Small town.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Okay, yeah, me too. What small town?”

Derek stares down at the curly fries. Stiles picks one up and Derek follows the action. “Beacon Hills.”

Thankfully, Stiles hasn’t started chewing yet. “Dude! That’s where I’m from!” When Derek doesn’t reply, Stiles continues. “I can’t believe we don’t recognize each other. If you were sixteen when you left, that meant I was thirteen. We were probably in the same school at some point! That’s so cool - I haven’t met anyone here from Beacon Hills, yet. Me and my best friend Scott were the only people I knew of that lived there.”

Derek nods. “Small world.”

“Anyways…” Stiles draws out the word before shoving a curly fry in his mouth. “What made you and your sister want to leave?”

Derek looks away, jaw clenching. “Family stuff.”

“Oof. Sounds pretty rough.” When Derek doesn’t move to elaborate, Stiles switches gears. “My dad’s the Sheriff. Sheriff Stilinski? He may have been a deputy when you still lived there. Point is, I don’t think he’ll ever move out of Beacon Hills, so I’m kind of stuck there, too.” Stiles thinks for a second about what it would be like to permanently move from Beacon Hills, to not regularly see his father and to have to depend on Skype calls for comfort instead of a firm, bear-like hug. He takes a bite of his bacon, egg, and cheese, refusing to even imagine it.

Derek looks at Stiles and gives him a crisp nod, like he understands the reluctance to live away from family. “Alright, if that’s all…”

Stiles sputters, “What? Are you not enjoying the quality conversation, good sir? Would you be more responsive if I offered you a curly fry?”

Derek rolls his eyes—and what an impressive roll it is—before crossing his arms over his chest. “Let me get your check ready for you.”

Derek turns to walk away and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, Derek has turned back around toward him, both eyebrows raised in what may be considered amusement. “Uh...are you okay?”

“Fine! I’m fine! Ya’ know, Derek, this is a very inconvenient time for you to choose to care about how my dining experience is going, okay? So, please, as I’ve asked over and over again, may you just leave me be?” Stiles takes another bite of his sandwich, in an attempt to convince Derek to get away from him before the heat in his cheeks becomes visible in the way of splotchy redness.

Derek scoffs, clearly not buying Stiles’s avoidance techniques, but seemingly choosing to spare him. “Are you paying cash or card?”

Stiles gives Derek his card and after signing the receipt, he leaves a 30% cash tip for Derek. What can Stiles say? He’s a sucker for stilted conversation and nice asses.

He never made it to class, but so what? Fuck morning classes, right?

♦

**_I was a flight risk with a fear of fallin’_ **

**_Wondering why we bother with love if it never lasts_ **

_Stiles tip toes down the stairs when he hears a door slam. He’s only ten years old, but he knows that loud noises are only there for celebration, like fireworks on the Fourth of July, or for anger, like his dad bringing his fist down on the kitchen table and roaring at Stiles to go to his room when he’s used all of the shaving cream to draw pictures on the table in front of the couch again. He sits on the only step that never creaks and he waits._

_“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Claud. You’ve gotta be.” His dad sounds like...like him, almost, like when he tried really really hard to explain why he_ needed _to go to Scott’s house even though he was grounded because Scott said he was scared of the dark._

 _He hears his mom breathe out. It sounds like she let so much air out that it shouldn’t even be possible for her to ever breathe again. He grips the railing, about to check on her, when she says, “I’m sorry it happened like this. But_ — _.”_

_“You can’t say sorry, then say ‘but.’ You may as well not even say sorry at all.”_

_His mom keeps talking, almost like she didn’t even hear his dad. “But...you can’t be surprised.”_

_“We could’ve talked about this.” His dad pauses, and Stiles imagines him running a hand through his hair. “We could’ve tried. We_ — I _would’ve done anything that I could. What about Stiles, huh? What’s he gonna think?”_

_Stiles wipes at his cheek and it surprises him to find that it’s wet. Jackson says that crying is for girls and losers and babies. Stiles knows he’s not a girl or a baby, so he guesses that means he’s a loser. He doesn’t really like the idea of that._

_“John, I wish you didn’t find out like this. I wish that it happened differently, but you_ know, _you_ know, _that we haven’t been okay for a long time.”_

_“So, you just go ahead and fuck somebody else without trying to talk to me about it?”_

_Stiles gasps, heart beating as fast as his pencil hits the desk when he wiggles it between his two fingers, like the Flash. He knows that word. He knows that it’s something that kids aren’t supposed to say and he knows that even when grown ups say it, it’s not good._

_He hears footsteps and then a broken sound coming out of his dad. He tiptoes further down the steps, peeking around the bottom of the stairs, and sees his mom’s hand on his dad’s shoulder as his dad cries. But, his dad isn’t a girl or a baby_ or _a loser. Jackson must be wrong. Stiles thinks his dad might just be really sad. He watches his mom squeeze his dad’s shoulder and say, “I’m sorry, John. But I think it’s time we both move on. You and I both know that Stiles deserves better than this.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm trying a different kind of format than what I've done in the past. There's a lot of bouncing around the time line, but I'm hoping that I'm not doing it in a way that's confusing. If you are confused...I'm sorry? And I'll try to explain anything if you ask a question!
> 
> Happy reading!

**_I say, "Can you believe it?"_ **

**_As we’re lying on the couch_ **

**_The moment I can see it._ **

**_Yes, yes, I can see it now._ **

_Stiles opens his eyes slowly, reluctant to start the day after staying up so late writing. He pushes his arms above his head, stretching until he hears a couple bones crack. The sun from the window glares into his eyes and he whispers, “Okay, I’m up, I’m up.” He plops one of his arms to the other side of the bed, feeling the warmth still there and trying not to pout at not having a slow start to the day with the man he loves most in this world._

_He swings his legs over the bed and stands, scratching at his bare abdomen and running a hand through his hair. He smells bacon from downstairs and can almost hear the sizzling as it cooks. He shuffles across the floor into the hallway and drifts down the stairs into the kitchen._

_“I gotta say, this view is almost enough to make up for the fact that I didn’t get my cuddles this morning.”_

_Stiles watches as Derek carefully flips an egg before he turns around, signature smirk resting lazily on his face. “Maybe it’s payback for me not getting to fall asleep with you last night.”_

_Stiles strolls further into the room, coming to a stop before Derek and wraps his arms lightly around Derek’s waist, fingers spreading across his bare back, slipping into the tip of his boxer briefs, his chosen outfit for this morning. “You know my writer juices flow the fastest after midnight.”_

_Derek exhales in a silent laugh. “I wouldn’t have minded some different juices flowing in our bedroom.”_

_“You didn’t!” Stiles throws his head back and laughs, Derek pushing forward to nuzzle at his throat. “I can’t believe you just said that. I’m sorry, but we’re over. We’re done. The past six years have been great, really, truly, but this is where I draw the line.”_

_Derek pulls back, eyebrow raised, emerald-sapphire eyes rolling. “Just go sit on the couch and I’ll bring out the breakfast, princess.”_

_Stiles chuckles, dropping a chaste kiss on Derek’s lips before stepping away to the couch. This couch has traveled from Derek’s apartment above the diner to Stiles and Derek’s first apartment Stiles’s Junior Year of college to their home here in Beacon Hills. There’s definitely a couple permanent indents from where Stiles and Derek always sit, but Stiles doesn’t think that he could ever part with it._

_Derek sets the two plates full of eggs, bacon, and toast on the table in front of the couch and they eat together, the munching on bacon and birds chirping and wind blowing the only sounds in the room. When finished, they place the plates and forks on the table and Derek leans over, giving Stiles an eskimo kiss._

_Stiles lifts the corner of his mouth up in a smile and whispers against Derek’s lips, “Thank you for breakfast.”_

_“Of course,” Derek murmurs, pushing Stiles against the couch so they’re both laying down and Stiles is tucked between Derek and the back of the couch. Stiles lifts his hand into Derek’s hair, running his fingers through it and Derek makes a soft sound, snuggling closer. “I was thinking that in celebration of you finishing your book_ _—_ _”_

 _“Der_ _—_ _”_

 _“_ _—_ _which you will finish,” Derek cuts Stiles off, “that during the Summer we could go on a cruise. You’ve always wanted to go on a cruise. Maybe July?”_

 _It’s February now and Stiles takes a breath. Stiles never let himself think too far into the future before. Before this, before Derek, before the countless times that he was proved wrong over and over and_ over _again. But, when he thinks of the future, he can see it now. He can see him and Derek in five months, in five years, when there was a point that he wouldn’t let himself look ahead five days._

_Derek knows. He knows how hard it was for Stiles to sign that first lease for their apartment four years ago. Derek had to talk him through a panic attack, even as Stiles spat cruel words in his face about how they would never last. Derek never left his side._

_“That sounds awesome,” Stiles mutters, smiling._

_“Awesome,” Derek lets out in a yawn, tightening his arm around Stiles’s waist._

♦ 

**_Do you remember, we were sitting there by the water?_ **

**_You put your arm around me for the first time._ **

Stiles has been visiting Derek at the diner at least three times a week for the past two months. His wallet has definitely seen better days, but he can’t help it. He really likes the curly fries and the chicken, bacon, ranch wrap, and well, obviously, Derek’s ass. He also thinks that Derek doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends around here and after the first week, Stiles doesn’t even have to beg Derek to talk to him while he’s eating his breakfast or lunch or dinner.

“So, are you coming with us to the beach tomorrow, or what?” Stiles asks Derek, not unkindly. 

Derek takes a rag out of his back pocket and starts wiping down the area that Stiles just ate in. “It’s gonna be you and your friends?”

Stiles resists rolling his eyes, but only just. “Dude, yes. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to get you alone, so I could steal your virtue.”

Derek’s face does a funny thing, like it can’t decide between recoiling or glaring. “The fact that you say that makes me think that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.”

Stiles flails, indignant. “Excuse me! How dare you think for even a second that my intentions are anything besides the purest of pure? We’re supposed to be friends, good sir. And I do not appreciate this defamation of my character.”

Derek stares at Stiles, perfectly blank faced. “Are you done?”

“Depends! Are you coming to the beach tomorrow?”

“Fine, okay. Sure.” The words sound like someone stuck their arm underneath Derek’s skin and injected a syringe into his vocal cords, literally forcing the words out.

“Perfect—I’ll pick you up at ten.” Stiles gets up before halting to a stop. “Wait. Where do you live?”

“Here,” Derek says, like it’s no big deal, like it’s completely normal for employees of restaurants to use booths as beds and the three compartment sink for washing, rinsing, and sanitizing the human body.

Stiles gawks at Derek, waiting for something in his mind to click into place so that this will make some sort of sense. When Derek doesn’t say anything, Stiles says, “You live here. In the diner.”

“Yes…” Derek draws the word out, like Stiles is the one that’s not making sense. “There’s an apartment right upstairs that I share with the head cook, Boyd.” Ah, okay, okay, there’s the click in his mind.

“Ah! Yes—apartment. Yes, that—that makes sense. Of course you don’t sleep under the counter. You’re a person with an apartment. That’s exactly what I thought the entire time that we were talking. One hundred percent. Anyway, yeah—yep, see you tomorrow at ten.” Stiles scurries out the door before Derek can realize that Stiles is an idiot.

Because, Stiles can’t lie, he’s not against hooking up with Derek. Actually, he’s full on board with hooking up with Derek. Stiles has had a couple good hook ups since he started school, but he still can’t stop thinking about Derek riding him. Maybe the beach actually _will_ be the perfect time to steal Derek’s virtue. Not that Derek still has a virtue to steal. But, you get the point. 

\---

They’ve been at the beach for a few hours now and just finished a hardcore volleyball game. Stiles even dove for the ball at one point. Don’t listen to Scott. Or Derek. Or anyone else. He _dove,_ okay, he didn’t trip over his own feet. He was the epitome of athletic excellence, thank you very much. Everyone else runs back to the water, but Stiles and Derek jog over to a picnic bench, sitting on the table with their feet flat on the actual bench.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” Stiles asks. He hasn’t seen Derek laugh so freely and smile so easily since he’s known him.

There’s a ghost of a smile on Derek’s face, almost like he doesn’t realize that it’s there. “I’ve always loved the beach. Beach days were something that we used to always do.” Derek pauses, glancing at Stiles before looking back to the water, face shifting into something more serious. “As a family,” he finishes. “Before the fire,” he mumbles.

And something snaps into place in Stiles’s mind. Like a bucket of cold water was dumped on a little section of his brain. He has a memory of a fatal fire in Beacon Hills when he was thirteen. Only survivors being a sixteen year old named Derek and his older sister, Laura. “ _Oh._ ” Stiles lets the word fall out in the midst of an exhale, barely there. “I’m happy you came,” Stiles says clearer, surprising himself a little.

Derek looks up at Stiles from underneath his eyelashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stiles shivers. “Oh man, I just got a chill. Gettin’ breezy out here!”

Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’s shoulders, pulling him closer, quicker than Stiles even realizes what’s happening.

Stiles freezes in place, feeling colder than he was thirty seconds ago. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“You’re cold.” Derek says, like that’s the easiest explanation. Like it’s that simple.

“Heh, heh…” Stiles breaks away from Derek’s grip. “This is getting a little too affectionate for my taste.”

Derek kind of gapes at Stiles, which is an interesting look on Derek, because it’s not the classic mouth open, eyes wide gape. It’s almost like a scowl-gape. Like he’s shocked, but it’s Stiles’s fault that he’s shocked. “I’m confused. You’ve more or less been _courting_ me for the past two months.”

Stiles jumps up from the bench, mouth opening and closing, looking back and forth, arms waving around. “ _What?”_

“Stiles,” Derek says, in a patient voice, like he’s a wolf dealing with a very small, scared animal. “You only come to the diner when I’m working. You only come alone and you talk to me the whole time. You’ve commented on my,” Derek coughs, “ass more than once.”

Stiles nods, up and down, fast, and it’s like he can’t stop. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Uh, that’s because I _want to get in your pants._ ” Stiles says, like it’s obvious. Because it is. “I don’t want — what do you think I was trying to do? Derek, I mean, I think you’re cool. We can totally be bros, ya know? But, I’m not — I don’t _date_ people. I was hoping for more of a Bros with Benefits type thing, ya know?”

Derek nods, once. He’s so in control of his body and his movements. Every single thing seems purposeful, almost like his body is the plot moving a story forward. Whereas Stiles’s body and words and everything about him is chaos, a story no one can follow, a story people give up on because it just doesn’t make sense anymore. “I’m gonna call an Uber,” Derek states.

“Listen, dude, this isn’t—”

Derek’s already walking away. “I get it, it’s cool. I’m gonna go.”

Stiles doesn’t follow him. Because that’s not what this is. That’s not what he does. He doesn’t want to give Derek any false hope, or whatever the fuck. Stiles has a sudden, crashing memory flooding his mind that has no place here, in a moment with Derek, who’s his bro, who’s just a waiter at a diner near his dorm.

His mom and dad were sitting across from him at the kitchen table and his mom said that he deserved better than parents that pretended to love each other for his sake. His mom pointed at herself and his father and said, _“You deserve better than this.”_ The same words Stiles heard her say to his dad the week before. At the time, all Stiles wanted was his parents together, in the same house, taking him to school events and going for walks around the neighborhood. Stiles always found it funny that his mom thought he “deserved better,” when all she really did by leaving his dad, leaving _Stiles,_ was make it so Stiles would never believe in love ever again. Make Stiles doubt any hint of his heart beating faster or his skin tingling at a touch because _it won’t last._ Stiles remembers his dad after his mom left, alone, crying every night after Stiles went to bed.

One night, when Stiles couldn't handle the sound of his father’s broken sobs anymore, he tiptoed down the stairs and asked his dad why they ever even got married or even had Stiles if they didn’t love each other. His dad pulled Stiles up onto the couch, even though Stiles was ten years old and way too big to cuddle with his dad.

“We loved each other, Stiles. We loved each other so much.”

Stiles didn’t understand, “Then...what was the point? You say you loved each other, but it ended in crying.”

Stiles’s dad gripped Stiles tighter and said with a voice so firm that Stiles had tensed in his father’s hold, “You were the point. Anything that led to you was worth it.”

Stiles didn’t agree. He promised himself he would never, _ever,_ let himself love someone so much that he would just end up crying himself to sleep every night. Nothing was worth that.


	3. Chapter 3

**_You made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter._ **

**_You are the best thing that’s ever been mine._ **

Stiles is walking down the hall after his Statistics class and wondering how in the name of everything that’s holy he’s going to pass that class. The professor doesn’t count participation in the grade _or_ homework _or_ classwork. There are literally four tests throughout the semester that are worth 25% each. He got a C on the first one and an F on the second one. Let’s just say he doesn’t have high hopes for the next test.

When he steps out of the building to start walking back to his dorm, Derek’s standing by the entrance. They connect eyes and Stiles takes out his earphones, letting them dangle from the pocket that his phone is in.

Stiles asks, “What’re you doing here?” Derek falls into step with Stiles and doesn’t say anything until they stop in front of the library, sitting on a bench.

“You haven’t been to the diner.” Stiles waits for Derek to say more to that. He extends his neck, eyebrows raised in Derek’s direction. When twenty seconds of Derek avoiding eye contact go by, Stiles just sits back and becomes one with the bench, gazing up at the cloudy sky.

“I’m gonna be honest, dude. I figured it would be awkward if I went back to the diner.”

Derek turns to him then. “That’s all?”

Stiles’s jaw clenches. He knows that’s not all, but Derek doesn’t have to know that. Stiles can already see that if he kept hanging out with Derek he’d end up in a position he didn’t want to be in, heart trying to convince him that Derek might be “different,” that Derek might be “worth the risk.” Stiles _knows_ that absolutely _no one_ is worth risking his happiness. People say it’s better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all and those people are _stupid._ Those people must not have had to watch their heartbroken dad flinch at the idea of dating someone after his mom, turn to a bottle of Jack any time he was reminded of a happy memory of their past together, those people must have never been told that they had their mother’s eyes in a voice that sounded disappointed. 

Derek takes Stiles’s silence as opportunity. “Stiles...we haven’t known each other for long, but—”

“No ‘but,’ dude. We barely know each other. So, any fuzzy feelings that your body’s tricked you into feeling should be vuh-HEEEEM-ently ignored. Vehemently, dude!” Stiles jumps up from the bench and looks down at Derek. “It’s a lost cause, trust me.”

Derek gazes up at Stiles, eyes squinting a little at the sun that’s started to peek through the clouds. Stiles wonders when Derek’s eyes became so open. He thinks back to that first day at the diner, how closed off Derek had been, and he _yearns_ for that day. How did Stiles miss this? He’s usually so careful and, honestly, he thought Derek was a safe bet. Damaged, like Stiles. Heart locked up in a jail cell in his chest, the only key buried on the land of the house fire that killed nearly the entirety of his family. Stiles didn’t think for a second — nay, a _millisecond_ —that he would have to worry about the feels being caught between him and Derek. Stiles let himself get sloppy, and he won’t let it happen again.

“You know,” Derek says, “when you say ‘it’s a lost cause,’ it sounds to me like you’re saying _you’re_ a lost cause.”

Stiles's mouth snaps shut, teeth clacking. His fists clench around the straps of his backpack, knuckles turning white. His throat works, he swallows, making sure his voice comes out clear. “Fuck you. Seriously, dude, _fuck you._ You don’t know _anything_ about me. Nothing! You’ve clearly got some twisted up idea in your head of what _this_ —. ” Stiles unclenches his right fist and wags a finger between the both of them, pointing at Derek, then at himself, then at Derek again. “ — might be. I’ve got news for you, good sir, _you’re wrong._ ” Stiles feels tears blazing behind his eyes, knows that if he blinks, they’ll surge down his cheeks, which is so fucking stupid that he laughs out loud. The sound clearly has the same effect as two hands coming together in a clap in front of Derek’s face, as he jolts backward, startled.

Derek stands, body stiff. “I don’t think I am.” He turns, trekking through all of the students walking to and from class, back to the diner.

Stiles grasps his hair with both of his hands, tugging it, feeling the need to scream. To yell, shout, _roar._ Whenever he starts to feel like he doesn’t have a handle on his emotions, when he doesn’t have control of where his next steps take him, he usually hops in his Jeep for a drive, cranks the music as loud as it can go, and screams as loud as he can. No one can hear him and it feels better. It feels better than punching walls that leave his knuckles scratched. It’s releasing. He doesn’t have his Jeep here, so he groans, angry, pissed off, _fuming_. He feels like a tea kettle that doesn’t get the grace of an open tap, the water just keeps getting hotter and hotter and the whistle gets louder and louder, but it’s contained to the kettle.

He bolts back to his dorm room. Needing to get away from all the sounds and smells of the open quad. He needs the familiarity of his space. He needs to breathe. 

He gets back to the room and flops onto his bed, chest heaving. It won’t be long before Derek closes this book, annoyed that there’s too many twists and turns that aren’t interesting enough to be engaging, realizing that it isn’t worth it to try and keep up. He deserves a good book, with a clear protagonist, clear antagonist, and clear beginning, middle, and end. He deserves to meet someone, get to know them, go on dates, kiss, _make love,_ trust, live happily ever after. He deserves to be with someone that believes a happily ever after exists. 

Stiles doesn’t let himself think about the fact that the only reason he doesn’t let himself love is because he doesn’t want to risk his happiness. Because, if he lets himself think about it too long, he’ll start to realize what he’s feeling right now? Well, he’s not feeling happy at all. He’s not stupid, he’ll start to realize that choosing not to let himself be open to Derek is having the opposite effect that it _should._

He squeezes his eyes shut and falls into a restless sleep, dreaming of a beating, emerald-sapphire heart. In his dream, he’s screaming, he’s howling, he’s punching at the heart and it’s just beating. It’s strong, resistant to everything that he’s throwing at it. He drops to his knees, weeping, and the heart opens. It doesn’t break, it opens, over Stiles and Stiles is being pulled up from his chest, but it’s not a tug. It’s not a haul or a drag or jerk. It’s a _lift,_ he’s being lifted, gently, and his tears have stopped. He wakes up slowly and when he takes a breath, it’s almost as if every breath before this one was clogged up. He can never remember breathing coming this easy.

\---

It’s 5:30AM and he’s shoving on his shoes, darting out of his dorm room, ignoring Scott’s yelp when he slams the door. He doesn’t run to the diner. The whole distance there is almost like he’s taking ten steps forward, three steps back. He’s fighting with himself. This isn’t some eye opening realization where he’s all giddy and excited and _oh my god, maybe this is it!_ No, he’s angry, he’s _raging,_ he’s weak. He hates himself for it. He continues trudging forward.

He’s in front of the diner, banging on the door. “Come on, come on, come on.” He doesn’t stop banging. Derek is rushing toward the door, unlocking a latch and shoving a key into a hole, twisting it. Stiles yanks the door open and Derek trips backward, against the counter.

Stiles doesn’t look at him, he’s too busy pacing back and forth. “You’ve got me _so fucking mangled up._ ” He tugs at his hair and grunts in frustration. “Why am I even here? What am I _doing_ , dude?” Stiles chances a look at Derek and his body isn’t stiff, his arms are dropped loosely at his sides. Most of his weight is on his right leg, causing his left hip to jut out a little. He’s leaning slightly on the counter. When did this happen? When did Derek get to a point where he was comfortable around Stiles, unguarded? How could Stiles _let_ this happen? “I’m usually so careful, man.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, waiting. Stiles, fuck, Stiles _hates_ him. He hates him.

Stiles doesn’t hate him.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know what you’re expecting from—from _this._ ” And Stiles does the same thing as he did the day before, wagging his finger between the two of them. “I don’t think that it’ll be worth it for you, dude. I really don’t.”

Derek steps forward and he’s shaking his head. “I don’t want anything _from_ you. I just — I know there’s a reason why I always choose to stay and talk to you when you’re in here instead of stocking and getting actual work done. I know there’s a reason why, even though I haven’t talked about my family to _anyone_ in years, that I talk about them with you. Even that first day you came in here. I just know, okay?”

“Fate is bullshit,” Stiles says.

Derek grits his teeth. “I’m not fucking talking about _fate._ The way you’re talking about this...you’re acting like I’m someone that just falls for people easily.” Stiles sees Derek clenching his fist and then spreading his fingers, wiggling them a little. “Stiles, I didn’t _want_ this to happen. You think I think that I deserve to be happy? You think that after my entire family _died_ , that I think that I should get to smile without thinking about the fact that they’ll never get to smile again?” Derek closes his eyes, takes a breath, opens them again. “You’re right about a lot of things. I don’t know a lot about you. You don’t know a lot about me, either.”

“See? See!” Stiles is fumbling, begging to catch Derek in a hole to prove _this won’t work._

Derek ignores Stiles’s interruption. “What I do know is that I’ve run from a lot in my life. I’ve run enough that I feel like a coward. And I know that being a coward is not something that _anyone_ in my family ever was. I don’t want to be a coward anymore.”

“Couldn’t you choose to like, I don’t know, go skydiving or something? Why do you have to be all brave when it comes to this?”

Derek rolls his eyes, a welcome sight at this point. “Because I know a lost cause when I see one. And you’re not that. And I’m not that, either. I think it’s about time we start to believe that.”

Stiles reaches forward and grabs the front of Derek’s shirt, yanking him forward. “Fuck.” His eyes are flitting between Derek’s and he groans, crushing their lips together, fist tightening in Derek’s shirt. Derek’s hand lands, like a bird floats down to a branch, on the back of Stiles’s neck, fingers brushing lightly through the hair at the top of his nape. Stiles pushes his tongue forward, trying to gain entrance to Derek’s mouth, but Derek keeps his mouth closed. He’s kissing back, but he’s twisting Stiles’s fist out of his shirt and twining their fingers together. Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand and Derek strokes his thumb, feather light, against the top of Stiles’s hand. Stiles becomes less tense, fight draining from his body, whimpering slightly. Derek breaks the kiss, nose dragging from Stiles chin, along his jaw, to the tip of Stiles’s ear.

“We got this,” Derek whispers. He kisses back down Stiles’s jaw, traveling toward Stiles’s lips and kisses Stiles again. Not a clash, but a question. He licks at Stiles’s bottom lip and it’s so soft it almost tickles. Stiles answers by opening his mouth and tilting his head. This kiss is languid, relaxed, no promise for something dirtier or more aggressive. Just a kiss. It’s nothing like Stiles has ever experienced. As Stiles runs his tongue over the inside of Derek’s bottom lip, he can feel Derek smile. Immediately, he feels the flip in his belly, the skip in his heartbeat, the signs that Stiles has _trained_ himself to run, run, _run,_ away from.

He smiles back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little NSFW at the beginning! Nothing _too_ crazy, haha.
> 
> Happy reading!

**_Flash forward and we’re taking on the world together,_ **

**_And there’s a drawer of my things at your place._ **

Stiles wakes up as he usually does when he’s been cuddled up against Derek’s backside for the entirety of the night, incredibly hard. Then he realizes what woke him, the muffled moans that he thinks he would recognize from a mile away, the noises that have a direct line to his dick. He opens his eyes and sees Derek next to him, two fingers thrusting in and out of his hole.

Stiles twists underneath the blankets, hand getting a firm grip on the base of Derek’s cock. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Derek’s eyes dart open and he smirks down at Stiles. 

Derek’s teeth dig out from his lip and he mumbles, “Wanted to surprise you.” He adds another finger, clearly frustrated that the angle isn’t right and he isn’t able to go as deep as he wants.

“Well, color me surprised.” Stiles strokes Derek’s cock, thumb grazing over the tip.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Stiles stops. “Not yet.” Derek takes the fingers out and grabs a condom from the end table before pushing Stiles down. Derek straddles Stiles, hand settling in the center of Stiles’s chest. His thumb flicks over a nipple and the smug smile that Stiles has grown to love and well, love, graces Derek’s features. Derek rolls the condom onto Stiles and adjusts himself over Stiles, gripping Stiles’s cock as he slowly sinks down, head thrown back and other hand still tweaking at Stiles’s nipple.

Derek bottoms out and he groans. “Was hoping you’d wake up to that sound, instead.”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, nails scraping over Derek’s chest and abs before gripping Derek’s hips. “Trust me, I’m not disappointed.” He pulls Derek up a little, as much as he can, and Derek takes the hint, putting more weight on Stiles’s chest to use as leverage as he lifts himself up and then sinks back down, over and over and _over._

Stiles reaches forward and takes hold of the back of Derek’s neck, pulling him down and bringing their lips together in a dirty kiss, sucking Derek’s lip and then opening his mouth, tongues sliding against each other, hot breath making the kiss wet. Stiles thrusts upward, relishing in the sound of Derek’s ass slapping against his skin. Derek breaks the kiss and his teeth drag a little down Stiles’s jaw before pushing him back down.

“A little aggressive this morning, are we?” Stiles tsks, but he’s leering up at Derek as he reaches forward to stroke Derek’s cock.

Derek slaps his hand away and Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Not yet. You’ll ruin the surprise I have for my—myself.”

“You can’t really surprise yourself.”

Derek lifts himself up as far as he can without disconnecting from Stiles and plunges down, _hard._ Stiles cries out and goes quiet, meeting Derek with every thrust before he starts to feel his muscles start to spasm. Derek _has_ always been the best at shutting Stiles up. “I’m close, Der.”

“Come for me, babe. Come on.” Derek’s pupils are so dilated that Stiles can barely see the color in his eyes. There’s a line across the right side of his cheek, an indent from the pillow. His hair is mussed up from sleep. There’s a flush high on his cheekbones and Stiles thinks for a second that Derek is _beautiful._ It’s been eight months since that morning in the diner and he doesn’t know if he ever truly let himself see that beauty behind Derek’s hard lines and the strength in his demeanor. The softness behind every part of him that Stiles usually just views as flaming hot. Stiles comes, mouth forming Derek’s name so naturally that he’s surprised he ever came without saying it before.

He reaches his hand up again, saying, “Der, Der, let me—.”

Derek crawls up Stiles’s body, knees bracketing his shoulders, and says, “Just shut up, close your eyes, and open your mouth.”

“Oh, _hell yes_.” Stiles grabs onto Derek’s thighs as he listens to Derek jerking himself off. He feels Derek’s muscles tense and then Derek’s coming onto Stiles’s cheeks, lips, tongue. Derek falls backward, ass landing on Stiles’s stomach and Stiles opens his eyes, his hands dragging up Derek’s thighs and sneaking under Derek to squeeze his ass. “Best surprise ever.”

Derek smiles, leans down to kiss Stiles, and whispers, “G’mornin’.”

“Good morning is _right._ Great morning, in fact!”

Derek chuckles and leans over, falling off of Stiles and landing on his side of the bed.

“You have any clothes I could borrow for class? I kind of don’t feel like going back to my dorm room beforehand.”

“Stiles, you leave your clothes here so often since you leave in your pajamas 90% of the time; I just started a drawer at the bottom of the dresser.”

Stiles stills, hand halting where it was caressing Derek’s back. “You what?”

“No, no. We’re not doing this.”

Stiles sits up, takes the condom off himself, happy for the distraction. “Doing what?”

“You’re freaking out. It’s just a drawer.”

Stiles ignores him. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, okay?”

In the shower, Stiles works himself up to a total stress ball. He’s never felt less in control of anything before. First toothbrushes, now drawers, and then what? Is Derek going to give him a key to the place or something equally as horrifying? Stiles knows he agreed to this. He knows he agreed to a committed relationship with Derek and it’s been going _well,_ okay? He knows that they get along more often than they fight and even when they do fight, that it always works out, that even when Stiles tells Derek that he told him so about it being a lost cause, that Derek never lets Stiles take that way out.

All the signs are getting hard to ignore, the fact that when Derek hangs out with his friends and seems to fit in perfectly makes Stiles’s heart flip flop like a fish on hot cement. And, yeah, that’s what he’s comparing his heart to because that’s what it feels like. It feels like something that’s barely alive, but refusing to die. Every time that Derek laughs at a stupid joke Scott makes or surprises Stiles with curly fries or kisses Stiles on the cheek, his heart is _screaming_ at him to let it free. Stiles's heart wants to openly love Derek so bad, that Stiles's stomach _churns_.

He gets out of the shower, drying off and tucking the towel around his waist before going back to the bedroom. Derek’s sitting at the corner of the bed in his sweats as Stiles opens the bottom drawer, pulling out some clothes.

“Stiles, come on. Come here.”

“I really need to get ready for class, dude.”

Derek fixes Stiles with a glare and says, “Come here.” No room for argument.

Stiles walks over to the bed and sits down, wondering when _anyone_ in the world had the power to say something in a tone that Stiles wasn’t willing to argue.

Derek doesn’t reach out and take Stiles’s hand and Stiles tries not to feel cold. He connects eyes with him and Derek looks resigned as he says, “I’m tired of you looking at me like you’re blaming me for something.”

“I’m not—”

“Stop, please.” Derek does reach out to Stiles then, thumb brushing his cheek and then clasping his hand. “I...I _love_ you, Stiles.” Stiles breath catches, heart flip flopping all over the place. “I love you. You know that I do—you...you _know._ I’ve loved you for a while now. Every time that I went to say it, I stopped myself because I felt guilty.” Stiles thinks he can actually see his own heart hammering in his chest, skin expanding with the force of it. “It sucks feeling like the more you fall for me, the more you hate yourself. I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, no—you’re—no, you’re not. That’s not—I don’t…”

Derek smiles and it’s sad and Stiles is stunned again with how beautiful he is. “Do you love me?”

Stiles’s stomach does a one-eighty, tossing and turning. He can’t stop thinking about the fish, desperately fighting for life. “I…” He can’t say it, but he can’t say he doesn’t either, because that’s not true, is it? “Derek, it’s not that simple.”

“It is.” Derek squeezes Stiles’s hand. “It is that simple.” Derek sighs and looks away. “I finally believe that I’m not a lost cause, anymore.” He looks back to Stiles. “Do you?”

Stiles is suddenly very aware that he’s having this conversation in nothing but a thin towel and he’s pissed about it. His entire body raises with goosebumps and it seems fitting because it feels like his insides are getting pricked over and over again with little needles. He feels vulnerable, _weak_. He stands up, tugging his clothes on. “This isn’t right. This isn’t—you’re not being _fair._ ” Stiles paces to the corner of the room and then back, stopping in front of Derek. “This is _your fault._ This is—you made me do this. You made me fall—made me.” Stiles chokes a little, like he’s about to do something stupid like cry. He thinks of his dad, a bottle of Jack in his hand. He looks away from Derek and mumbles, “How the fuck did I let this happen?”

“Stiles, come on, babe, don’t—.”

“Stop it!” Stiles spits out the two words. “Do _not_ call me that. Just—stop.” And Derek looks stricken, the hurt as clear in his eyes as the sun in the sky. Stiles is _glad_ for it. Because this proves his point. Look what’s happened to them. Look what this morning has turned into. “It’s about time. We knew this would happen eventually. This is how love ends, _babe_.” And he hates himself, just a little bit more, for the way Derek’s mouth forms a thin line and eyes go cold after hearing the venom in the pet name. “Love ends in heartbreak.”

“Are you really gonna walk away from this?” Stiles can see Derek hesitate before saying, “Are you really that scared?”

Stiles turns and walks out, thinking he should have _never_ let himself risk his happiness with Derek. Now all that he did was fuck himself up even more and take Derek down with him. He should have never ignored his instincts, the facts that he knew to be as true as the sky being blue. Love isn’t worth it; it only causes pain. He thinks about the fish on the hot cement, stilled, sizzling.


	5. Chapter 5

**_You learn my secrets and you figure out why I’m guarded,_ **

**_You say we’ll never make my parents’ mistakes._ **

Scott shakes Stiles’s shoulder, not gently. “Stiles, dude, what’re you doing?”

“Go away,” Stiles mumbles into his pillow.

“It’s been three weeks. When I had my panties in a bunch over Allison, you threw an entire intervention after _three days._ ”

“It’s different.”

Scott tugs on Stiles’s shoulder, flipping him so he’s face up and is forced to look at Scott. “The only difference is that I wasn’t in denial when I was dating Allison.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Scotty?”

Scott raises an eyebrow, “I know you’re not stupid. I know because you’re constantly telling me that you’re the brains of our dynamic duo.”

Stiles just stares at Scott, refusing to comment.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t you making up with Derek?”

“He...Scott, he told me he _loved_ me.”

“Yes, you already told me about your temper tantrum. But, it’s been three weeks. Don’t you think you’ve had enough time to get over yourself?”

Stiles pops up in his bed, back going straight as he fixes Scott with a look. “That’s not what’s happening here, dude. Me and Derek are over.”

“Okay, why?”

“Are you kidding me? Look at this!” Stiles flails, gesturing around the bedroom, trying to encompass the last three weeks. “This is what being with Derek has caused. I’m not going to let it get any worse than this. It’s embarrassing enough that I let it get this far.”

Scott looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Dude, this is what _not_ being with him has caused.”

Stiles squints at Scott, eyes narrowing, as Scott's lips slowly curve into a smug smile. “What’re you trying to say?

“Duuuuude,” Scott gives him a pitying look and Stiles recoils from it. Scott flinches in return, seemingly caught off guard by Stiles's reaction. He collects himself and then shakes Stiles’s shoulder again. “When you were with Derek, you were happy. You were the normal, everyday Stiles, but like... better, ya know? You smiled and shit. Mushy gushy stuff, whatever. Now, you’re not with Derek, and you’re pissed off and sad all the time. It’s a total buzzkill. Plus, it’s fucking annoying, dude, because it’s not like me and Allison. You’re _choosing_ not to be with him for whatever fucked up reason that makes you think that’s the right decision.”

“I’m choosing to stop risking my happiness for some dude with a nice ass.”

Scott rolls his eyes, _again._ Stiles thinks that Scott was hanging out with Derek more often than Stiles realized. “Okay, ONE,” Scott holds up a finger, “you already know that he’s not just ‘some dude,’ dude. And B,” Scott holds up a second finger, “this looks a lot like risking happiness to me.” Scott pauses. “Just talk to him. Really talk to him.”

“I’ll think about it.” Stiles wiggles his arms and his legs, shakes his head a little, then jumps out of the bed. “While I think about it, wanna get pizza and play Mario Kart?”

“Hell yeah.”

\---

Stiles dreams of a body of water, emerald-sapphire. Waves cascading over each other, only sound the water when the wave splashes over. The water isn’t over sand, it’s over cement, but it’s still operating like it’s the ocean. There’s a fish, thrashing on the hot cement, so close to the water, but not close enough. A wave comes and flows over the fish, leading it back to the water. The water is clear enough to see the fish swimming happily through the emerald-sapphire waves. Stiles’s eyes drift open.

It’s 5:30AM again and Stiles almost stubbornly waits until later before leaving his dorm because he is absolutely _not_ a cliche. He looks over to Scott’s sleeping body and thinks back to how heartbroken he was over Allison, the desperation in his voice when he said he would do _anything_ to get her back, even though she left him feeling shattered. There was nothing Scott could do; Allison didn’t want him back. Allison had moved on. Scott had no choice—he _had_ to move on. Stiles leaps out of bed, shoving his feet in his sneakers and adjusting them as he walks, hopping out the door of the building.

He gets to the diner faster than he had that first time, the realization more welcoming than it had been before after the gloominess of the last three weeks.

He sees Derek behind the counter and he doesn’t bang on the door, he taps it with each of his fingers, a quiet rhythm. Derek watches him, the look on his face hard to read. He steps behind the counter and Stiles takes a step back as Derek unlocks the door, pushing it open and letting Stiles inside.

Stiles slumps into a booth, hoping Derek will follow him. He peeks up to see that Derek has settled in across from him, body rigid. Stiles takes a deep breath and straightens up, fingers picking at each other where his hands are clasped in front of him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he jokes.

Derek doesn’t say anything.

“I told you that there was a lot you didn’t know about me, once. It’s not like—I don’t have some tragic backstory or anything. But, shit happened, and—god, it doesn’t even feel right complaining about when you…” Stiles trails off, knowing that Derek will understand that he’s talking about Derek’s family.

Derek winces, slightly, before stating, “Tell me.” There’s no force behind the words, no heat. No expectation that Stiles actually will. Derek looks like he is accepting of whatever Stiles has come here to do and preparing himself to go forward no matter what. Stiles takes comfort in that, at least.

“When I was younger, uh, ten, I woke up one night and heard my parents arguing. They kind of argued a lot, so it wasn’t a huge deal, but I was nosey then and—.” Derek snorts, but doesn’t say anything. Stiles smirks at him and continues. “Point is, my dad caught my mom cheating on him. And shit like that happens _all the time._ People get cheated on or—or just _left_ for someone or broken up with and then—well, the people on the other end of it end up so _fucked up_ most of the time, it seems like. I grew up watching my dad flinch any time that my mom was mentioned, or any time he heard me talking to her on the phone. Like every single time he was reminded of the feeling he had when he caught her.” Stiles notices that Derek’s body isn’t as stiff anymore, which is nice, because Stiles’s muscles have never felt so coiled up, ready to pounce at any second, right out the door. “My dad always tried to convince me that it was worth it, that loving her led to me, blah blah blah, sappy shit that he said to just try to make me less jaded or whatever.” Stiles snorts, now. “Clearly that worked phaaa-NOMMM-enally.”

Derek reaches across the table and puts his hand over Stiles’s clasped ones, stilling the fidgeting.

“Anyway,” Stiles rolls his eyes at himself because it’s ridiculous, he _knows_ it’s ridiculous. “This is gonna sound so dramatic, but I basically made a pact to myself. I didn’t want to end up like my dad, moving around like he was a totaled car that wouldn’t give up. Dude, he was _wrecked._ I mean, he was always there for me. Never let that bullshit get in the way of him being a father or whatever. But, he _still_ won’t date anyone else.” Stiles laughs. “I don’t want that. I want to be happy.”

“You didn’t feel happy with me?” Derek asks, and he sounds a little crushed himself, a little stunned, too. Like the possibility that he wasn’t happy while they were together is not feasible in the slightest.

“I did, of course I did, but that’s what scared me. My dad was happy with my mom, once. Look where that got him.”

“Stiles, I—.” Derek sighs, frustrated. “I can’t promise you that everything’s gonna be perfect. I’m not gonna _convince_ you to take a chance on us. But, we wouldn’t make those same mistakes.”

Stiles slips his hands away from Derek, shifting out of the booth and standing before sliding next to Derek. “The thing is, I believe you. That’s what scares me. When you told me you loved me, I knew what I _wanted_ to say back. That’s what scares me, too.”

Derek lifts his leg onto the booth, turning his whole body to Stiles. “What did you want to say?”

Stiles leans forward, fingers tangling in Derek’s hair, but not breaking eye contact. “I lo—fuck, I love you, too.” Stiles presses forward, mouths connecting, feeling wetness trickle down his cheek and falling over their lips. He leans back, foreheads together. “We got this,” he whispers over Derek’s lips before leaning in for another kiss. 

♦

**_But we got bills to pay,_ **

**_We got nothing figured out_ **

_Derek’s elbows fall onto the table, head landing harshly in the palms of his hands, and mumbles, “How can you just sit there and act like everything’s okay?”_

_“Because it_ will _be, okay? We’ll figure it out.”_

_“Easy for you to say.” Derek still hasn’t looked up at him._

_Stiles straightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“We shouldn’t’ve—.” Derek cuts himself off._

_“What? What, Derek?”_

_“We moved into this house too quick. If we just waited another year…”_

_“You’re blaming me.”_

_Derek sighs. “I’m not_ blaming _you, Stiles. I’m just saying, you’re writing isn’t the most dependable source of income and—.”_

 _Now Stiles cuts Derek off. “I_ offered _to get a part time job, Der.”_

_“I know, okay.” Derek looks up, finally. “I know. All these bills are just really daunting.”_

_“You’re almost finished with training, you’ll be able to start overtime soon. I’ll even tell my dad to make sure that you get more hours.”_

_“Stiles, it just seems like we’re going to be making temporary fix after temporary fix. I can’t always work a bunch of overtime. What about in the future? What about ten years from now? What about when we have kids?”_

_“Listen, my publisher said—wait, what?”_

_“What?”_

_Stiles blinks. “Did you just say kids?”_

_“I mean—” Derek sputters. “I’m just saying, eventually. I’m not—not anytime_ soon.”

 _Stiles smiles and says, in a sing-song voice like Sandra Bullock in_ Miss. Congeniality, _“You liiike me, you wanna marrrry me, you wanna have my baaabies—.”_

_“That’s not how it works.”_

_“You lovvvve me, you think I’m cuuuute,” Stiles has gotten up from his seat, dancing around Derek while he stays seated. “You wanna pay biiiills with me,”_

_“Actually—.”_

_“You wanna kiiiiss meeee.”_

_Derek gets up from the chair, wrapping an arm around Stiles’s swinging hips. “You’re not wrong there.” He kisses Stiles’s jaw._

_“You wanna gimmie a hickeyyy.” Derek brings his open mouth to Stiles’s throat, sucking, licking, biting. “You wanna suck my diiii—.”_

_Derek cuts Stiles off, kissing him on the lips. “Now you’re just saying what_ you _want me to do.”_

_Stiles giggles as Derek starts tickling his sides. “Stop stop,” Stiles wheezes. “Der!”_

_Derek stops, kisses underneath Stiles’s ear. “We’ll figure it out.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Stiles needs a lot of reassurance. He doesn’t trust love to work out. Derek knows that he has to love a little harder, a little more aggressively, when Stiles gets in his head about things.

**_When it was hard to take,_ **

**_Yes, yes, this is what I thought about._ **

Stiles knows that he shouldn’t have run out on Derek. It’s been a little over a year with him. Honestly, he should be surprised that this hasn’t come up yet. Of course Derek wants to meet his father. It makes sense. It’s the logical next step, right?

Stiles quickens his pace, feet coming down harder against the sidewalk, pebbles pressing into the soles of his shoes. His dad doesn’t even know about Derek and it’s something that Derek hasn’t pushed him on, before. Probably because Stiles has integrated Derek into almost every single other aspect of his life. Stiles knows that it’s not fair to Derek, flashes of Derek’s determined face saying, _“I don’t want to be a secret anymore"_ flashing across Stiles eyes. He shakes his head a little, clearing his vision before he ends up slamming into a telephone pole.

Stiles’s breathing is coming quicker, so he slows to a jog, stopping in front of a coffee shop and leaning on a chair. Just when he thinks he’s _evolved_ or some shit, something hits him and reminds him that he’s still running from reality. He can’t help the shame that trickles up and through him when he thinks about how he’s failed his younger self. He can’t help but think about how something is going to go wrong at some point and he’s going to end up totally broken. Because he’s accepted that much, he’s accepted that the love between him and Derek absolutely has the power to turn him into smithereens when _—if,_ he corrects, how’s _that_ for character development _—_ something goes wrong. Which is what he’s always tried desperately to avoid, until Derek. Even _throughout_ Derek. He’s like a kid easing into a pool, step by teeny-tiny step, finally hitting the water with a little toe before squeaking and running back to the safety of dry land.

He starts running again, no longer the sprint from when he first started, but fast enough to feel the wind hitting his face with force. It’s hard, knowing that he’s fallen so deeply in love that he’s become someone that he _knows_ will never regret it, even _if_ some shitty thing happens where him and Derek don’t end up together. The feeling he gets when Derek pulls him down into his lap during a movie night, or when Derek nuzzles into his throat with his nose, sniffing a little like a total weirdo, or when he looks down and finds marks from when Derek gets seemingly overwhelmed and just sucks until the skin on his chest, hip, collarbone, is angry and red, or when Stiles catches Derek reading his sister’s journal from when she was still alive. Derek told him that when it was just Derek and Laura, they made a promise to each other to keep a journal, so if anything ever happened to either of them, they had something truly important and personal to keep with the other.

Yeah, those feelings, those are the feelings he thinks about as he whips his phone out of his pocket and calls his father.

Time for Derek to meet the parent.

♦

**_Do you remember all the city lights on the water?_ **

**_You saw me start to believe for the first time_ **

It’s nearing the end of Sophomore year and Derek has _insisted_ that Stiles go for a picnic on the beach. Derek doesn’t actually ask Stiles on a lot of dates, so Stiles kind of gets the hint that this is something that’s important to Derek. Sties grabs the cooler out of the back of his Jeep and swings an arm around Derek’s shoulders as they walk over to a picnic bench on the edge of the beach. Derek wraps his arm around Stiles waist and squeezes his hip and it seems involuntarily, like Derek’s subconscious just knows that Derek wants Stiles as close to him as possible, all the time. Stiles beams at Derek, but doesn’t say anything, and Derek throws him a lopsided grin, squeezing his hip purposefully that time. 

They’ve eaten yummy sandwiches and drank a couple beers. Stiles throws a crunchy, orange cheeseball at Derek and Derek opens his mouth, maneuvering himself to catch it on his tongue. Stiles throws three more, pelting Derek in the face before Derek can catch it. Stiles cracks up, clutching his stomach as he starts to wheeze. Derek pushes Stiles, not forcefully, and Stiles lunges forward, kissing Derek.

When Stiles breaks the kiss, Derek says, “Move in with me _—_ or no, that’s not right. Let’s get an apartment together _—_ wait, that’s _—_ do you want to get an apartment together?”

Stiles searches Derek’s eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or even just hesitance. Anything that wasn’t complete and total confidence. “You…” Stiles exhales. “You really want this, don’t you? Want us?”

Derek raises his eyebrows, forehead scrunching up adorably. “Is this news to you?”

Stiles smiles, corner of his mouth quirking up for just a second. “No! I mean, obviously not. But, this isn’t just...you’re saying you want to _live_ with me, good sir, and that’s some pretty hardcore shit.”

Derek closes his eyes, rolling his entire head like he’s trying to crack his neck or something, before looking back at Stiles and pulling him a little closer across the bench, intertwining their fingers together. “I’m not sure if you were thinking this was some sort of fling, but _flings_ don’t usually last over a year, get introduced to dads, and tell each other they love each other.” Derek snorts. “I’m happier when you’re around, when we go to sleep together and wake up together. I want to live with you, Stiles. I’m not exactly planning on going anywhere.”

“I’m happier, too, when we _—_ what you said, basically.” Stiles pauses. “Don’t tell Scott I said that. It would break his heart.”

Derek grins, crossing his heart with his fingers. “Secret’s safe with me.” Derek pauses, thumb grazing over the soft skin of Stiles’s palm. “Is this really that surprising to you, though?”

Stiles tenses, knowing that Derek gets weird when Stiles, well, when Stiles gets weird about commitment shit. He thinks before speaking, something that doesn’t come naturally to him, wanting Derek to understand without feeling like Stiles doesn’t view this relationship as one of the most important things that he’s ever had in his life. “I guess _—_ there’s always been a part of me that has thought, you know, that this,” Stiles waggles his finger between them, “was maybe a little too good to be true. I guess, I don’t know, man. I thought at some point you’d realize that, maybe, this wasn’t worth it.” The _“I wasn’t worth it”_ goes unsaid, but Derek hears it; he always hears it. Ever since the beginning, he’s been able to read between the lines.

B.D. _—_ Before Derek _—_ and even now, if pushed, Stiles would say that he spent most of his life avoiding love due to the risk of his happiness being lost, but in reality, the truth is that there’s a part of him that always believed he was _already_ like his dad, like...like his love wouldn’t be _enough_ for someone. That even if he did let himself love and be loved that the person would realize that it _—_ that _he_ wasn’t enough. That thought, more than the aftermath of the broken heart, is usually what scares him the most.

Derek’s eyes _bore_ into Stiles, unblinking. In a different context, at a different time, Stiles would probably make fun of him for it because it’s really creepy. But, now is not the time because Derek squeezes his hand and says, “I am _not_ leaving you.”

Stiles quirks his lip up in a smile again. “I think I finally believe that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be angsty, but only as angsty as a fic with "Happy Ending" as a tag can be.
> 
> If anyone's confused about the timeline at all, something to note is that the very last chapter will be "the present," I guess. It'll be seven years into their relationship, so the rest of the fic is anything _before_ that time. The "heart" of the story - the shit that's not italicized, basically, is where I feel like Stiles's growth is, going from someone who is like love? Gross! to someone who's like love? Oh shit oh man yikes this might be messy, but okay, let's do this.


	7. Chapter 7

**_And I remember that fight_ **

**_Two-thirty AM_ **

**_As everything was slipping right out of our hands_ **

**_I ran out crying and you followed me out into the street_ **

**_Braced myself for the "Goodbye."_ **

**_‘Cause that’s all I’ve ever known_ **

**_Then you took me by surprise_ **

**_You said, "I’ll never leave you alone."_ **

Stiles is pacing, as he is prone to do when his mind gets away from him. And this has been days of his mind getting away from him, so just imagine. Imagine the state of his mind right now. He can’t even imagine and it’s _his_ mind.

“Oh shit, I’m totally losing it.” Stiles checks his phone again. Derek was supposed to be home over forty minutes ago. For the past week, Derek has been coming home late. Stiles is pretty familiar with Derek’s schedule, and by ‘pretty familiar,’ he means that he knows it almost better than his own because it’s so consistent. Derek always gets home just a little after six. And Stiles isn’t necessarily _proud_ of himself, but he looked at Derek’s phone, saw text messages from a woman named Natalie confirming meetings at coffee shops after work. The evidence is damning and Stiles is reluctant to face it head on.

Stiles picks up a wooden spoon and pushes at the sausage and pepper medley that he’s preparing for dinner. His stomach stirs at the thought of sitting down with Derek and eating like everything’s fine, like everything’s totally dandy.

Stiles isn’t stupid; he knows that Derek is planning on breaking up with him. He wants to say that he’s surprised, especially after Derek’s excessive reassurances over the years that he would always be there for Stiles. Stiles lowers the heat on the stove and steps off to the side, letting the back of his head smack harshly against the refrigerator door.

“I hate being right,” he grumbles aloud, mostly talking to the bowl of apples plopped on the middle of the kitchen table.

The key turns in the door and Stiles straightens up and takes a couple plates out of the cabinet. Derek walks into the kitchen, taking the plates from Stiles and beaming at him. “Dinner smells amazing.”

Derek starts setting the table and Stiles looks away, aiming for casual, “So, they kept you late at work?”

A fork clatters against a plate, the sound making Stiles wince. “Oh, uh—yeah, yeah _—_ you know how crazy it gets if I don’t clock out in time before dinner rush.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, lets a shaky breath escape his lips. “Right, of course.”

Stiles wants nothing more than to scream, curse, punch, throw. _Definitely_ wants nothing more than to spit a big, fat, _I told you so_ right smack dab in Derek’s face. But, Stiles isn’t going to give Derek the _satisfaction_ of a confrontation. If Derek wants to keep secrets and lie to Stiles’s face, then Stiles will let him. Stiles is going to make Derek wallow in guilt or concern or fear of the conversation that he’s almost definitely trying to figure out how to have with Stiles.

Stiles shuffles to the kitchen table with the food and scoops some onto Derek’s plate, then his own. He flops down into the chair across from Derek and tries not to let the insecurities and low self-esteem fumble up into his mind and then flicker down into his chest.

“Everything okay?” Derek says, chewing on a mouth full of food and groaning a little. “S’good, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Stiles tries to make eye contact with Derek, he _tries,_ but as soon as their eyes connect, Stiles feels his sting and he has to look away, staring at his food like it’s the goddamn Taj Mahal.

“You didn’t answer my question.” In Stiles’s peripheral vision, he sees Derek’s hand reaching across the table to grab onto Stiles’s. Stiles lifts his hand and runs it through his hair before letting it fall onto his lap, _super_ casual. Derek flinches and brings his hand back to his side of the table. Stiles has a vision of himself standing and reciting the ‘ _Stop, right there, this is my personal square’_ song and dance.

 _See, told you I was losing my mind,_ he says to himself. Himself agrees. Out loud, he says, “Yeah, sorry. I just have been struggling writing lately. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Derek's face smooths out and he breathes in relief, like ‘ _Ah, okay, that makes sense,’_ before saying with a smirk, “Well, maybe I can be your muse.” Then he has the audacity to _wink_ at Stiles.

Stiles feels bile rise in his throat and he chugs water before openly gagging. He coughs a little and wipes his face with a napkin, standing. “I’m not feeling too hungry,” he mutters, refusing to look at Derek. “Would you mind cleaning up? I’m gonna go lay down.” Stiles turns toward the bedroom and does his best not to sprint before purposefully shutting the door gently even though all he wants to do is fling it shut with a satisfying _slam._

\---

Stiles can’t sleep, and really, is anybody surprised? He clutches a pillow and yells into it, Derek stirring beside him then pulling a blanket up further to snuggle into. Stiles’s throat is doing the thing, the itchy-cry thing and he swallows, breathes, swallows. _Don’t you fucking dare, Stilinski,_ he orders to himself. He throws the pillow he just yelled into to the end of the bed and jumps up, putting on a pair of sweatpants and his nearest hoodie, slipping into the slippers that Derek bought for him because Stiles always complains about his feet being too cold. Stiles bumps into the dresser as he’s walking out of the bedroom and a book falls to the ground. Stiles charges out of the room before he chucks the journal that Derek bought for him toward the opposite wall.

Stiles is sitting on the front steps to the apartment when he hears the door open and shut behind him. He scooches over on the stair, letting whoever else is up at 2:30AM stumble pass him to get to the sidewalk. But, the person stops and sinks down until they’re sitting on the same step as Stiles. Stiles doesn’t have to look over to know it’s Derek.

“Is everything okay?” Derek says, just like he did at dinner. Before Stiles can answer, Derek continues. “And tell me the truth this time.”

Stiles barks out a laugh, stunned, before nearly snapping his neck in his haste to turn toward Derek. “And isn’t that just _rich._ ” There’s venom in his words as he says, “You wanna talk about _truth,_ Der? Where have you been the last week?” Stiles hesitates and is humiliated when his voice comes out softer, hurt clear in his words as he asks, “Who the hell is Natalie?”

Derek blanches and it’s all the confirmation Stiles needs as he shoots up from the step. “How do you _—_ no, wait _—_ Stiles, it’s not _—_.”

“Your face said enough, dude.” Stiles rushes inside, up the stairs to their apartment. _Their_ apartment. Stiles jolts at the thought that leaps through his mind, _‘How could I let this happen?’_ and it sounds like such an old question. Something that he’s left in his past, yet here it is, fresh as ever as he staggers into the apartment.

“ _Stiles!”_ Derek shouts as he closes the door that Stiles left open. “Stiles, listen to me.”

“There is _literally_ nothing that you can say right now that’s going to make this okay. And when I say ‘literally,’ I mean _litraaally_.”

“Are you seriously standing there thinking I’m cheating on you?”

Stiles throws his hands in the air, having no problem looking at Derek now. This feels right, more natural to him than the lovey-dovey floundering he’s been doing over the past four and a half years. It’s like he’s been walking around wearing shoes two sizes too big and he’s finally decided to put on a different pair of sneakers. “Are _you_ seriously standing there saying that you haven’t been lying to me?”

“I didn’t say that, I _—_.”

Stiles snorts. “Okay, good, so you admit you _have_ been lying. You know, that’s the first step. I’m _so proud_ ,” sarcasm oozing as Stiles clutches his shirt in a fist at his chest, feigning pride.

Derek’s face goes cold and he’s angry now and Stiles bites back a smile because this is _easy,_ this is what he’s been _waiting_ for. “I can’t believe you.”

Stiles clenches his fists at his sides. “You can’t believe _me?_ You fucking _asshole,_ fuck you! You’re _cheating_ on me, even when _—_ even though _—_ ” Stiles’s voice breaks and his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “You knew what this would do to me.”

“I _told_ you, over and over _—_ I told you I’d _never—_ I feel sick right now that you’d even _think—_.” Derek sighs, exasperated and moves toward a backpack by the door, pulling out a file and walking over to Stiles. Derek pushes the file full of papers at him.

“What the fuck is this?” Stiles snaps.

Derek pushes the file firmer against Stiles’s chest, making Stiles trip backwards slightly. “Open it.”

Stiles opens the folder. It’s a bunch of different photos of houses, addresses in Beacon Hills. He keeps flicking through the papers, seeing an e-mail correspondence with someone named Natalie discussing price ranges. “What…” Stiles trails off.

“Natalie is a real estate agent. I was...I wanted to make sure _—_ I didn’t want to say anything to you until I knew it was something that was possible.”

Stiles is just staring at the papers, not really seeing them anymore. He has a heavy, sinking feeling from his chest all the way down to his toes.

“I’m here thinking about buying a house with you and you’re still thinking that any day I’m going to cheat on you.” Derek’s mouth forms into a frown. “I didn’t realize we were in such different places.”

“No, no _—_ that’s not it…” Stiles closes the folder, drops it on the kitchen table. “It’s just, when you started lying, I jumped to conclusions.”

“You felt like you couldn’t talk to me? Like you couldn’t ask me about it? When have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” And Derek still looks angry, but it’s mingling with sadness. Probably a little disappointment _—_ may as well throw that in there for good measure, considering Stiles is a total fuck up.

“I didn’t want it to be real. I just...even if you were cheating…” Stiles feels his cheeks heat up again. “I wanted this...” and Stiles waggles a finger between them, as he always does. “I wanted this to last for as long as I could stretch it out. I didn’t want to face the possibility that you’d leave me.”

Derek’s face falls. “You don’t trust me?”

“I do.” Stiles brings his hands up to Derek’s face, palms resting on his cheeks and thumbs brushing back and forth under Derek’s eyes. “I trust you.”

“You can’t do this, though, Stiles. You were expecting me to give you answers when I didn’t even know the _questions._ ”

“I know, Der, I know.” And Stiles braces himself, forehead pressed against Derek’s now, thinking...this might be it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He sweeps their lips together in a kiss, not quite knowing if it’s welcome. “I love you, I’m sorry.”

Derek’s hands come up and grasp Stiles’s wrists. “I’ll never leave you alone.”

♦

**_You said, "I remember how we felt sitting by the water._ **

**_And every time I look at you, it’s like the first time._ **

**_I fell in love with a careless man’s careful daughter._ **

**_She is the best thing that’s ever been mine."_ **

Stiles flops back onto the bed and says, “I remember how I felt that first time we were at the beach. How scared I was when you put your arm around me.”

Derek snorts, arm tightening around Stiles’s bare abdomen as his fingers draw patterns on Stiles’s skin. Stiles tangles his fingers in Derek’s hair, massaging his scalp.

“And I remember how scared I continued to be, even when I did take the plunge. Every single day I chose and still choose you, no matter how scared I am.”

Stiles feels, more than hears, Derek sigh, breath hot against Stiles’s skin. “You don’t need to be scared.”

“I know I’m not easy,” he whispers and Derek looks up at him, stubble dragging against Stiles’s chest as he moves. “I know that it’s gotta be exhausting for you.”

“You are the _best_ thing that’s ever happened to me. Don’t think for a second that isn’t the truth.”

Stiles smiles down at Derek, eyes glassing over with unshed tears. “You made me realize that love is worth it. I know it’s sappy as fuck, but you love that shit.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “What I _love_ is you.”

Stiles throws his head back, laughing so loud that he’s pretty sure his smile is twinkling. “See! Sappy as fuck.”

Derek rolls his eyes again, scoffing.

“So, tell me about this house search.”

Derek's nails scratch down Stiles's ribs and Stiles shivers. “Natalie said there’s a house being built now that might be ready to buy in a little over a year, which I think makes the most sense for us.”

“No,” Stiles states with an air of finality. No nonsense.

Derek's hand stills and Stiles feels his body go tense. “Waddya mean ‘no?’”

“I don’t want to wait a year. I wanna do it now. I want a house with you.”

“Are you sure that’s the smartest thing to do? I don’t know if we should rush it.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I wanna take leaps with you.”

Derek's face is soft, hair disheveled slightly from Stiles's fingers. "Okay," he says, voice clear.

"Okay?" Stiles snickers. "Okay!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice fluffy ending for you all! I really hoped you enjoyed this little journey. I know that I did.
> 
> A teeny tiny bit about me, I used to write _all the time_ before going to grad school, then especially before starting my career. This quarantine has been incredibly hard on people for so many different reasons. I'm not really surprised that I turned to fanfic during this time because it was something that always made me happy, without question. Writing my first real fic made me realize my love for writing, pushed me to pursue a minor in Creative Writing while in undergrad. I think coming back to fic, writing this, was me pushing myself to remember the feeling I get when writing, to not let go of that feeling when I start working again.
> 
> Anyways, happy reading! Please leave comments about what you liked/didn't like. It means a lot to me!

**_Hold on, do you believe it?_ **

**_We're gonna make it now._ **

**_Hold on, and I can see it,_ **

**_Yes, yes, I can see it now._ **

_ Stiles hits “send” on the e-mail to his publisher and stretches back against his chair, tugging his arms over his head as his shoulders crickle crackle. He stands and screams, “Derek!” _

_ Derek comes running into the room, sliding on the floor and hip checking the desk before tumbling down and falling on his ass. “Wha—what’s wrong? What happened?” _

_ Stiles is positively chortling, nose making unattractive snorting noises, as Derek slowly gets up from the ground. “Dude,” Stiles wheezes, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you trip before, let alone  _ fall.”

_ Derek rubs his hip and mumbles, “Well, I’m glad that you could find some humor in my pain.” _

_ Stiles reaches out, wiping at his eyes before massaging the part of Derek’s hip that hit the desk. “Awww, is somebody a wittle embarrassed?” Stiles pouts, tilting his head. _

_ Derek rolls his eyes, but the unmistakable blush that creeps up Derek’s cheeks is all the confirmation that Stiles needs. “Why did you scream?” _

_ Stiles squeezes Derek's hip when he remembers and Derek makes a pained noise. "Ah, sorry, but! Yeah—I finished!” _

_ Derek’s eyebrows shoot up and he says, voice full of wonder, which...rude, kind of. "You...you finished?" Did he not think Stiles was capable of finishing this novel? _

_ “Yeah...don’t look so surprised, man, you’re harshing my mellow.” _

_ Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’s waist and lifts him. Stiles lets out a startled squeak before Derek’s spinning him in circles. “You finished your book!” _

_ Stiles laughs, taken off guard. “You’re acting like I’ve never finished a book before.”  _

_ Derek sets Stiles back down and Stiles holds onto Derek’s shoulders, regaining his balance. “Well,” Derek starts nervously, “This time it’s a little different.” _

_ “And how is that?” Stiles asks, curiosity piqued.  _

_ “Come with me,” Derek states, ominously. He turns and walks out of the room, leading Stiles to the couch. This is the seventh year that this couch, along with Derek, has been in Stiles’s life. It’s really about time to invest in a new one—a new couch, not a new  _ Derek.  _ Stiles smiles softly at Derek as Derek pushes him down onto the couch and walks out of the room for a moment. _

_ Derek’s got a lifetime warranty on Stiles’s heart. No new Derek’s for Stiles, no no no. Stiles is a little surprised to find out that the thought doesn’t scare him, not like it used to. Thinking about being with anyone for a  _ lifetime  _ used to give him the heebie-jeebies. But, this isn’t  _ anyone,  _ it’s Derek. Stiles can’t imagine anything else, anything better. He’s in love, he’s head over heels, he’s positively  _ smitten.

_ Derek saunters back into the room, hands behind his back. “The only thing that I’ll accept you hiding behind your back right now is Reece’s or lube, okay? Actually, lube is the only option. I am in post-book completion bliss and I wouldn’t mind being in orgasm bliss, too.” _

_ Derek drops to his knees, but doesn’t say anything. _

_ “Oh, yeah, baby! This is what I’m talking about.” Stiles lurches forward, intending to get hot and heavy with Derek’s mouth, but Derek moves one arm from behind his back and pushes Stiles back, hand lingering on his chest before slipping down, not breaking contact until it lands on Stiles’s knee. _

_ Derek clears his throat. “I’ve been waiting for you to finish your novel...partially because I didn’t want to distract you, but partially because maybe I was scared. Since when am I the scared one, right?” Derek hesitates. “I think I’ve always been more scared than you or even I realized.” _

_ Stiles scrunches up his eyebrows, looking down at Derek. Stiles is distracted by the way Derek’s talking. It’s not firm or confident or even purposeful. It’s a little chaotic, a little all over the place; he’s not a story driving the plot forward, like Stiles has always viewed him. Stiles wonders when that’s changed. If instead of two completely separate books—one clear cut and leading up to a tidy resolution, one all over the place, unfinished and messy—they’ve somehow merged into one, one that’s a little chaotic, but a bit more balanced now. Like the chaos has found its match to keep it in line, to be a breath to blow out the candle when it’s been burning for a bit too long, a bit too wild. _

_ Derek continues, “One time you described being with you as exhausting, and I’ve never thought that. I’ve always felt like you were the best thing that’s ever been, well, the best thing that’s ever been  _ mine.”  _ Derek smiles a little at that, but it’s shaky and Stiles's breath hitches in anticipation. If this were him, or maybe who he used to be, the nervous energy would have led to him already interrupting Derek five times, demanding answers, ordering him to stop being so cryptic. As it is, he stays silent, mouth slightly agape. “I  _ love  _ you. Being with you isn’t exhausting, never has been—it’s been exciting and it’s brought more spark into my life than has been there in a long time. Even so, sometimes I do get scared that maybe this will get to be too much for you, too serious, or too long term, or—.” Derek cuts himself off, shaking his head. Stiles moves his hand to squeeze Derek’s, still on his knee. “The point is that even with that fear, I know that no matter what, I want to be with you, as long as you’ll have me.” _

_ Stiles blinks down at Derek. “I want you forever, Der.” _

_ Derek smirks up at him, eyes glistening. “I’m glad you say that because…” Derek takes his other hand from behind his back and flicks open a little jewelry box, revealing a ring. “Will you marry me? _

_ Stiles does lurch forward then, landing on Derek and collapsing both of them onto the floor. “Yes,” he says, firm, no nonsense, no room for argument. He’s grabbing at Derek’s face, kissing his chin, his cheekbone, his temple. Derek’s laughing. Stiles kisses his mouth, then, his smile, and Derek kisses back. Lips moving softly against each other, Stiles feels Derek’s hands shuffling behind Stiles’s back and Stiles leans away from Derek. Derek brings his hands up, finally having gotten the ring out of the box. He takes Stiles’s hand and puts the ring on his finger. _

_ Stiles’s breath catches. His eyes flicker to Derek’s, so open, so trusting. Stiles can’t believe he ever questioned the love of someone that looks at him like that. _

_ “We so totally got this,” he whispers. And there’s wonder in Stiles’s voice now, too. _

_ “Think about it,” Derek mumbles. “A wedding...flowers, music, family, me in a suit.” Derek waggles his eyebrows at Stiles. “It’ll be perfect, no matter what, because I’ll be getting married to you.” Derek pauses, eyes searching Stiles’s face. “Can you see it?” _

_ “Yeah,” Stiles’s voice breaks and he swallows, fighting off the burning feeling of tears about to fall. “Yeah, I can see it now.” _


End file.
